The book

It was a world made up
A story line exaggerated
Thoughts of an author written
A beautiful semantic on paper.

It's a way to escape
Not just pain, happiness and feelings
It's to escape reality as a whole
A getaway better than Nevada.

The book made me a sheikha
A princess one time, then a vampire next
Most times someone just in love
But every character I read, I live for.

At first it helped to forget pain
Then it made me happy
After that, I can't seem to stop
It seems the book is addicting to a fault.

Well maybe not the book itself
Maybe it's the stories
Sometimes I think it's the story plot
But whichever, I think the book helps forget.

The book is something I can always hold
Like an anchor to a ship who wishes to be still
A rock to a paper that's weightless
Or maybe it can be a god of some sorts.

My addiction to the book is frantic
I praise it like an eager pagan
Knowing it's wrong does not hinder me
This is the book that gave me back my sanity.

Don't argue if it's bad or good
Because one can never tell for sure
If the book is saving me
Or maybe the book is silently killing me.

The Dream

I was held by strong arms,
His eyes bore to mine like shovel,
The vastness of his chest was amazing
He has this enticing smell of him

I dream of a guy
Not long ago I met
Not long ago I stared at him
But now I saw no shadow even.

The dream I had was surreal
I felt his touch to my bones so deep
I felt his eyes as his black orbs stared at mine
The dream made me happy.

But that was a dream that was also painful
I was jerked awake; away from my hero
The hero I can only hold in my heart and mind
A hero who never knew my name.

He was as lovely as the sun
The smile on his face is the fire to my moth
That deep voice is my tortured lullaby
His whole being is my forever paradise.

But like diamond and gold,
He is so unattainable.
Though my heart aches
I can never deny we were never meant to be.

The dream is perfect.
The dream is all that I can collect.
The dream is fine.
The dream is the only thing I can call mine.

I was that girl

I was that girl,
The one who's confusing as hell,
A girl full of fire but can also freeze hell
I was the girl who never got over the past
I am still the girl who's afraid of things that last.

I second guess my decisions
Not because of confusion
But because I've got no trust
No trust of myself to do something good
No trust of myself to not always be crude.

I can be feisty
I can be naughty
I can be charming
But be warned; I can be alarming.
I can never answer with a yes
And never can I say no, less
Every decision I make
Is a foregone mistake
Because I was the girl
Who never held a pure pearl.

A mistake I am
A mistake I will always be.
But do not underestimate me.
For a girl can do so much wrong
But I was always the girl with guts of a gong
I may second guess what I do
But I can also strike when it stand as true
For my morals are still intact
Even if my mind is whacked.

I can love you
Then hate you
I can see you
Then ignore you.
I can be anything
But I was never something.
I was a girl afraid of myself
Of decisions I can never help
I ignore most of the pain in my life
But I get annoyed at myself most time.

I was that girl who was always silent
With a mind at peace but sometimes violent
I was that girl who hates herself
For she can't speak her mind so well
I was that girl who whispers promises
To a sleeping stranger to prevent calluses
Calluses that appear to people I love
Because this girl is not as pure as dove.

When one day you try to persuade her
That she means the world to you
And that you actually want her
Just don't ask anything
Go marry her without her knowing.
Because this... me,
I am the type of girl
Who goes crazy at the sight of tender
But then I can be mushy
Because I was that girl thought to be lovely.

The Girl

She looks like mercy; like epiphany
But don't be fooled; she's melancholy
Her heart screams hate
But her actions are haste
She's petite to a vision
But she's a girl on a mission
Don't stare at her wounds
For they are her goons
Those wounds are her battle scar
In this world full of wars.

But would you still stare
If she's no longer really there?
Would you stare at dead eyes?
Would you touch skin as cold as ice?
Would you admire a corpse?
A girl whose life went under floor.

She's no longer suffering.
She's not even dying.
She's simply dead.
She is the girl who went ahead.

End